


Her Madara

by OfHealingLove



Category: Naruto
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Drugging, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Heavy Angst, Horror, Kidnapping, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Psychological Trauma, Reader Beware, Shit guys, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, dark dark dark dark DARK, seriously guys this is intense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-17 13:37:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11852691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfHealingLove/pseuds/OfHealingLove
Summary: Sakura's boyfriend of three and a half years has always been more invested in their relationship than she was, and when it's time for her to move on to bigger and better things...well, Uchiha Madara has never been one to let his beloved leave without a fight.Or at all.Cross-posted on Fanfiction.net.





	1. Boyfriend

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyyy guys!
> 
> Just a quick 5-chapter-at-the-most story. Not my usual multi-chapter saga, just a fun (read: traumatizing) little fic. ;)

“No.”

She sighed. “I knew you’d say that, you stubborn ass. But that’s the thing—you can’t say no when someone breaks up with you. It’s not your choice. But I should have known you wouldn’t understand that.”

Madara’s dark eyes narrowed. “I think you’re the one who doesn’t understand.”

Haruno Sakura knew that she understood perfectly; it was Madara who didn’t. Yes, Uchiha Madara, Japanese business tycoon to rival the American Bill Gates, was her boyfriend of three and a half years. Or, well, he had been. Until now. About thirty seconds ago, actually.

She’d known he wouldn’t take it well, but that was really the root of the problem, wasn’t it? He was invested in a way she wasn’t. He wanted marriage, family, children—she didn’t. Not yet, and not with him. It almost hurt her to think it, a sharp pain caused by the deepest of pity. She hurt for him like she was the one being broken up with—because she knew just how much he cared. She cared, too. But their lives were heading in different directions, and he wanted things from her that she didn’t, wanted things for her that she didn’t agree with.

He wanted a housewife. He wanted a woman to stay and home and take care of the children, to be a matriarch. But Sakura didn’t want that, and never had, and because of that, they almost hadn’t gotten together in the first place. But with urging from his younger brother and her own undeniable attraction, she’d taken the leap. He’d already been under for a while, then.

And for a while, it had worked. Up until six months ago, Sakura had actually convinced herself that she could be what Madara wanted. It wouldn’t be so bad to stay at home with future children, would it? It wouldn’t be so bad. He’d had people to help with the chores around the house; all she had to do was raise the children. Greet him when he came home. Spend time with him when they had a minute.

But then Duke University in America wanted to take her on as a research partner. They had a new theory on breast cancer, which was Sakura’s specialization, and they wanted her to be a part of the team on recommendation of her mentor, Senju Tsunade.

It wasn’t the kind of opportunity she could pass up. Without telling Madara, she’d accepted. For six months she had dithered with him, keeping her secret and trying to find a way to break it to him. But the deadline to make accommodations had come and gone, and she’d found herself with an empty apartment in the United States waiting for her. It was furnished already, and her personal belongings had been shipped off yesterday.

Her flight was in three days. Feeling terrible about the deception, she’d told him about it over dinner, and ended with the clincher: she was leaving on Wednesday, and she wouldn’t be coming back for a long time.

No bullshit about seeing other people. Sakura wasn’t planning on dating when she got to America. She could really carve her place out in the international medical community with this opportunity, and with it had come the realization that she would never be happy if she was a housewife. She admired the women who did it, including her own mother, but it wasn’t for her. She had a very specific dream to reach for, and being a stay-at-home mom wouldn’t reach it for her.

She was shaken from her thoughts when Madara’s hot fingertips caressed her cheek. “You’re not leaving, Sakura.”

She pulled back, lips pursed and brow furrowed. “I’ve told you how much I hate it when you order me around before, Madara,” she said. “And you really can’t do anything about it. My flight is already scheduled.”

His eyes were heated and cold at the same time. “How long did you say you’ve had this planned?”

Sakura swallowed. There wasn’t going to be getting around her own guilt, that was certain. She knew she’d regret keeping her secret for the rest of her life, no matter how things panned out here. It wasn’t like her. “Six months,” she said, willing her voice not to waver. Madara scented weakness like a shark scented blood in the water. “It’s set in stone, Madara. There’s nothing you can do.”

“Is that so?” he replied idly, reaching further forward to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. She took a full step backward this time.

“Stop doing that,” she ordered, belatedly slapping his hand away. His nostrils flared, a sign of impending anger. “I think I should leave.” She hadn’t even come inside the house all the way, really. They were standing in the foyer of the gigantic mansion Madara called home, where he had come to greet in her lieu of his butler since she’d said it was important. Sakura clutched her purse tightly with her left hand.

“No,” he said silkily. “I don’t think you’ll be leaving at all.”

Sakura barked a laugh. “Yeah? You’re just going to keep me here? Tie me up, keep me in your basement? I don’t think so, Madara.”

Quick as a viper, the hand that had reached to caress her face shot out and gripped her bicep, yanking her towards him.

But Sakura wasn’t a slouch herself, and she had used to take martial arts as a hobby. With equal finesse, she dislodged his grip and shoved him away, though apparently not hard enough as he hadn’t been moved a single centimeter. It was probably the guilt, making her use less than her full strength.

She didn’t want to hurt him any more than she already had, after all.

But, she realized, he didn’t look hurt at all. His lips were quirked into a smile, but it was of a sinister sort, not the kind she was used to seeing on him. His eyes, usually the most telling part of his face, though—they were dead. Not hurting, not sad, not angry.

Dead.

Against her will, a jolt of fear shot down her spine.

Sakura took a healthily large step towards the door. “Goodbye, Madara.”

She turned to reach for the handle, but that was her mistake: turning her back on him.

Abruptly, her body was yanked backwards into his hard chest, right hand pulled away from her body.

“What the hell-”

She felt the arm around her waist release her and for a moment she felt relief, then saw a syringe full of clear fluid going for the inside of her elbow.

“Madara, what-!”

The needle pierced skin uncomfortably, making her feel vaguely nauseated—she was great at putting needles in other people, but herself, not so much—and then felt cold liquid fill her arm.

His aim was sloppy, and there was no doubt that the vein would soon collapse, but not soon enough to prevent the drug from entering her bloodstream.

“ _Madara!_ ” she screeched, flailing to get away from him. He released her just in time for the head rush to hit her.

Sedatives.

Her vision wavered.

“Ma-Mada-….”

She fell, and the last thing she knew was the breath leaving her lungs from hitting the floor.


	2. Reflexive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those warnings? This chapter is all about them.

She came awake with a dry mouth, bleary eyes, and a weak, limp body. It took a moment for her mind to collect itself, but then she remembered what had happened.

She tried to scream, but inside her mouth was a gag—a ball gag. The kind Madara had always wanted to play with but she’d always said no to. Apparently, he hadn’t thrown it out like she requested. Some of her screams escaped because it wasn’t thoroughly muffling, but it depressed her tongue and made it hard to make coherent sounds.

A few screams later told her no one was coming, so she focused on her surroundings next. She was in some kind of dimly lit basement, and whatever she was laying on was soft—a bed, her brain told her, though she couldn’t really see very well. Her arms were bound behind her back with…with fuzzy handcuffs? She wasn’t going to think about that too hard, but she was grateful that they weren’t cutting into her wrists. Her feet, though, were bound in actual steel cable or something similar, and she knew she wouldn’t be breaking free.

_What the fuck,_ she thought, so bewildered by what was going on that she couldn’t even be properly scared.

Yet.

A part of her was certain that fear would be coming shortly.

Sakura briefly struggled, but her restraints were too strong. Blinking rapidly when she realized she wasn’t going to be escaping of her own volition, she fought between tears of fear and bellows of anger. Neither would help her in this situation, but it was nonetheless overwhelming.

Bellows of anger, because Madara, her ex, the one who hadn’t been willing to take no for an answer, had done this.

Tears of fear because Madara, her ex, the one who _hadn’t been willing to take no for an answer,_ had done this.

Sakura swallowed with great difficulty as she realized that it seemed she had been closer to the mark than she could have ever dreamed when she’d mockingly asked if he was going to keep her tied up in a basement.

The scary part was that there was a part of her that wasn’t actually surprised and that she probably should have listened to when she considered breaking up with him once she was already in America. It would have been callous, and cold, and she probably never would have been able to forgive herself for it, but in hindsight, the idea seemed rather golden.

Even in the happiest bliss of their relationship, Madara had always been just a little more invested than she had. He had been the first to say “I love you.” He had been the one to ask her out in the first place, and only apparently bad judgment and manipulative little brothers convinced her to accept. He had always been the one to initiate anything, actually—Sakura, for all that she had always lauded herself a strong and independent woman, had usually found herself just going with Madara’s flow.

It was easier that way, although she had never really stepped back and questioned why.

Now, she was starting to understand why she hadn’t.

Because looked through with a certain lens, Madara had always been in control, always dominated the relationship. He wasn’t cruel about it—Sakura certainly wouldn’t consider herself an abused woman—but she had just found it easier to follow with his decisions, and he always seemed to have her best interests at heart anyways.

Sakura realized that unless the job offer hadn’t come along, she would still be with him. She would be blind to this knowledge, and she could only imagine that she would have eventually come to her senses far in the future—probably after marriage and children. And then she wouldn’t just be changing her own life; she would be ruining her children’s, as well, and that would have been so much worse.

The heavy introspection was a good distraction from her terrifying situation until she realized as well that what she had narrowly avoided with the job offer’s appearance in her life could now very well become a much worse reality. At least before the job offer she’d had the illusion of choice.

Madara had vehemently and succinctly destroyed that illusion, and it hit her hard that with everything she knew about him, he wasn’t going to let her leave.

At least people would notice when she didn’t board her flight and didn’t show up at Duke. She wasn’t sure just how far American influence reached into Japan, though, and she wasn’t sure how much it would affect someone like Madara. But she knew that her disappearance wouldn’t go unnoticed, and that was comforting in a way.

But that was days from now.

There were many terrible things that Madara could do to her in even that short period of time, which now suddenly felt like years to be stoically endured.

She swallowed hard and something in her stomach felt like it had curdled.

Then there was the opening of a door and footsteps going down wooden stairs.

Sakura had the irrational urge to vomit, then, but wouldn’t let it rule her. What with the ball gag, it could be dangerous to her health, even if Madara was nearby.

He appeared then, at last, wearing a casual white tank top that showed off his firmly muscled arms and highlighted the abs it covered, and black sweats. It looked like he had just come from a workout, although definitely freshly showered minus his blow-dried mane of black hair.

He smiled when he saw her, a wicked edge to his lips.

Sakura glared at him furiously.

“You could have stayed of your own accord,” he said casually without any sign of maliciousness as he sat on the edge of the bed. One long-fingered hand stroked her bound calf gently, and Sakura felt goosebumps race up her body like wildfire.

His touch, unlike any other time they had touched, wasn’t pleasant. Instead, it left her with her hackles raised and bristling, desperate to get away from him.

All she could do was glare at him, at least until he wiped the look from her face.

“I gave you a whole six months to decide, Sakura,” he said, his tone hardening. “I waited and waited for you to tell me, to be open and honest about your plans, to give me a chance to convince you against the path you wrongly chose. Instead, three days from your departure, you come here and barely give me an explanation before trying to leave forever.”

Sakura felt her body growing colder and colder and her eyes going wider and wider with every word he spoke. He’d…known? This whole time?

_How?_

“You should know me by now, Sakura. I wasn’t going to let that happen, and I’m certainly very unhappy with you right now.”

He gripped her slim calf tightly, painfully, and she inhaled sharply through her nose.

But that was the only sign of his displeasure. As though he wasn’t bruising her with his grip, he went on silkily, “But at least you allowed me time to prepare. Now, we can _decimate_ the last of that horrible defiant streak you have and start taking things seriously.”

A terrified shiver wracked her body. This…this wasn’t Madara. This couldn’t be the man she’d fallen in love with. He…he wasn’t cruel to her. He didn’t smile sinisterly like he was right now. He cherished her, cared for her, bought her nice things at appropriate occasions, and he _loved_ her. For her. There would be no reason for him to want to break her-her _defiant streak?_ She had almost always deferred to him, whether she agreed or not! Anything else was just her being a human with her own thoughts and feelings!

She shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing. No, this couldn’t be Madara, not _her_ Madara. He would never hurt her—she winced as his grip on her calf tightened—and he would never kidnap her, tie her up, threaten to, what, _hurt her_ until she was nothing more than a mindless doll?

Sakura swallowed hard, and terrified tears sprung to the corners of her eyes.

He smiled at her then, gently, like she was used to seeing, and released her calf, starting to free her legs from the steel cables. At first she was relieved, hoping that he was going to let her go, and she found herself panting with relief.

She wasn’t sure why she was so stupid as to think that, because as soon as her legs were freed, he spread them and settled between her thighs.

Sakura screeched at him, bucking and thrashing when she realized his intentions. She _would not_ let him rape her.

_Her Madara would never do this!_

It took a moment, but soon he managed to grab her ankles and force them down to the bed. “See?” he said, eyes glittering. “This is that defiant streak I’m talking about. If I want to have sex, we _will_ have sex.”

Sakura screeched at him again, arching her back and bucking her hips to try to wriggle away.

She stopped abruptly when he, without releasing her ankles, met her wildly bucking hips with thrusts of his own.

Her body deflated after only two touches to her core, and Sakura, for the first time in her life, was genuinely terrified of the man she’d once loved. Or, at least, who she’d _thought_ she’d loved.

“ _Please,_ ” she tried to say, but it came out as a high-pitched squeal of a plea.

“I’ve had enough of your rebellious tongue for the day,” Madara said carelessly but with a cold edge. “Unless I want it on my cock, it’s not coming out.”

Sakura very obviously gagged at the thought. Yes, they’d done it before, but she not only got absolutely nothing out of it, but actively didn’t enjoy it. Madara had been respectful about her wishes, although she had still done it on occasion, but always of her own volition. It had never bothered him.

Or, at least, that was what she had thought.

_This couldn’t be her Madara!_

But it was very much her Madara’s hips that began grinding against her limp ones. Sakura hissed at the bruising force with which he gripped her hips to make them cooperate with his in a parody of an act that was once and could still have been consensual. Even though it wasn’t, though, her body recognized his, and she began to react against her own will. No one had ever brought her pleasure like Madara had, and it seemed her body hadn’t forgotten that, no matter how she urged it to.

She didn’t want this to feel good.

Madara began edging her leggings off her body, at first slowly and then more quickly until they and her underwear were in a rolled up heap at the foot of the bed.

“Do you know how long it’s been, Sakura?” he asked breathlessly as he took of his own shirt and pants.

Sakura, although every bone her body begged her to let her tears free, could only glare at him furiously, effectively masking the terror that was writhing beneath her skin.

“Six weeks,” he told her. “Six weeks and two days. And I promise you, I have every intention of making up for that time tonight.”

All that escaped her was a guttural growl. Was he telling her that he was going to be rough, make it hurt? She didn’t care. She hoped it did. At least then she wouldn’t enjoy it.

But Sakura had never really experienced pain during sex before, and after this, she found that she really and genuinely never wanted to again.

Madara gripped his cock, standing tall and proud and oh-so-big, and stroked it once, twice. “I should punish you,” he said with a razor-sharp smirk. “You’ll regret trying to leave me after this, Sakura. You’ll never try again.”

He aligned himself with her and a tingle of both fear and anticipation jolted up from the base of her spine.

Then he plunged in, hard and fast and without a care in the world for her comfort, and Sakura screamed, trying to twist wildly away from him, from where he was genuinely hurting her.

“So good, so _good_ , Sakura,” he moaned, the bliss evident in his tone making her tremble violently with disgust. This wasn’t her Madara. This _wasn’t,_ it _couldn’t be._

_Her Madara would never hurt her like this!_

But he set up a vicious pace inside her, and oh, it was, it _was_ her Madara hurting her like this. Tears, more reflexive from physical pain than emotional, fell from her eyes as she endured his rapid and harsh pace. His symphony of groans and panting and _praise_ never stopped, and Sakura soon wished her hands were free not so that she could fight him off but so that she could cover her ears.

She couldn’t, though, and he would never let her, so she laid still and limp as Madara sung her praises, interspersed with grunts and moans and heavy breathing, into her ear. Dirty talk, the dirtiest talk she had ever heard and that made her feel more like an object used solely for fucking and for no other purpose, was aimed at her, and with every word she felt herself further dehumanized.

What was happening alone would be enough to make anyone cry, but to have someone she had loved, who she’d thought had loved her and cared about her and valued her, doing these things to her, _saying_ these things to her…

Well, Sakura didn’t cry.

She left altogether.

* * *

Madara released himself inside of his beloved one last time before finally wiping himself clean. She’d been catatonic for the last four hours, having only lasted one out of the five, but he didn’t mind. She’d be feeling this fucking for _days,_ and that was how he’d wanted it.

How _dare_ she think she could leave him? After everything he’d done for her, all he’d invested, after how much sheer _love_ he had for her?

His Sakura was very intelligent, but sometimes, when it came to matters of the heart, she really didn’t understand.

He sighed, pushing his bangs away from his face. He was sweaty all over again, even after working out most of his rage in his personal gym—he hadn’t really wanted to hurt her, after all. Effortlessly, his eyes glided over her, from her bruised legs to her toned thighs to the claiming ejaculate all over her hips, pelvis, and torso, to her wide-eyed stare at the ceiling, unwavering except for the occasional reflexive blink.

Madara chuckled and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. He’d leave the light on so that when she woke up and came back, she could be certain that her unresponsiveness hadn’t slowed him in the slightest.

It would have been better if she had been present, of course, but it really had been over six weeks. He’d been tearing at the seams with lust.

“Sleep well, my beloved Sakura,” he murmured, tucking that stray pink hair behind her ear affectionately and then walking away.


	3. Adjust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pretty tame chapter, all things considered...
> 
> Warnings for supreme depravity, though. Mentally. From Madara, obviously.

3: Adjust

When Sakura came to, it was slow, like surfacing for air from beneath a murky swamp.

The first thing she noticed was the cold, then the pain. It thrashed through her body like a live whip, especially in her nether regions and hips and abdomen. She groaned, weakly, feeling the gag still pressing down on her tongue, and then slowly sat up.

Slowly, slowly, _slowly_ , because her lower body felt like it had taken a serious beating, lashed with a white-hot whip. Her abused inner walls were throbbing with pain, and her hips were sore and sensitive. And then, as she looked down to assess the damage, she saw the…the…

She was covered in it, from her breasts to the thatch of pink curls between her legs. It coated her like a brand, and there was so much of it that he had to have come much more than just a few times.

Madara had stamina, she knew that. Almost too much. And she didn’t even remember him coming the first time—just that one minute she was in the purest misery she had ever felt, and the next, she was waking up to this. And he had to have noticed her blacking out, the clinical part of her assessing that she’d reached sensory overload and had shut down as a way to shield her mind from the sheer, utter trauma of what she had been put through.

But it obviously hadn’t stopped him.

He must have kept going for hours.

Sakura shuddered, realizing with stark clarity the truth of her situation, and promptly began to cry. He wasn’t here, so she didn’t have to hide it, and it needed desperately to come out. Otherwise it would stay inside her, poisoning her slowly.

She didn’t need the internal poisoning to interfere with the emotional acid she was being force-fed by her…her… _Madara._

The tears intensified into shuddering, muffled sobs around the ball gag as she remembered the good times she’d had with him, the ones that had made her stall making the decision to leave him. The ones that had really made her doubt if she wanted to go to America until her will had solidified. If only she’d known what monster lay beneath the surface of the man she’d loved, or rather, that the man she’d loved was just a façade, the sheep skin over the wolf’s fur.

Even more than the rape, Sakura mourned the last three years of her life, which had apparently been nothing more than a big, fat, horrendous lie. The rape and its coating of her body only made her reaction more visceral, understanding now and being forced to believe just how monstrous Madara, once _her_ Madara, was and always had been.

She sobbed so hard she started coughing, and then once the coughing started she started retching, and soon she was vomiting over the edge of the bed around the ball gag.

Thankfully, there wasn’t much to come up, or Sakura was afraid she would have choked and asphyxiated on her own vomit. Once her pathway had cleared, though, and she felt the drying stickiness on her chest, and she remembered the situation she was in to have gotten her to this point, Sakura wondered, even though she didn’t actually want to die, if she might not actually be better off.

That thought was cut short, though, because Sakura didn’t want to die, had never wanted to die, and she wasn’t going to let this monstrous, true version of Madara change that.

It was only then that she realized her legs hadn’t been re-tied, and she wondered if he’d done that on purpose as a test or if he’d genuinely forgotten. It seemed too much to hope that he was really that absentminded, but at the same time… She glanced down at her chest with calculating eyes and thought that maybe, just maybe, the dopamine had dulled his wits. Just enough for a simple mistake. After all, her hands were still cuffed together. They wouldn’t hinder her much.

They wouldn’t hinder her any more than not having clothes, anyway.

But what she thought was absentmindedness was actually just thorough confidence in his sexual prowess, because once on the edge of the bed, she found her lower body just could not _stand_ to move. Just shifting forward what little she had to move her legs to touch the concrete floor with her feet had sent jolts of pain up her spine, but when she forced herself to her feet to take one wobbling step, she actually collapsed. She was lucky she hadn’t hit her head, what with her hands prevented from properly saving her.

It would have been one thing if it was just the pain; Sakura had a high pain tolerance, and most likely could have pushed through with enough determination, which she currently had in spades.

No, it wasn’t the pain, although that was certainly there. Apparently, he’d damaged her so much from his brutality that her body had met and exceeded its pain threshold to the point where there was no way to force willpower into the equation. Her thighs and hips were not simply allowing of movement, so with all her might, she forced herself back onto the bed using solely upper body strength. At first, her thought was that at least Madara wouldn’t know that she’d even entertained escape. Then, after her struggles wiped off all of his ejaculate onto the mattress, where it would be visible enough if someone was looking, Sakura decided to say that she’d been trying to go to the bathroom. There was one down here, after all, and the thought sent a pang an entirely different kind of pain to her gut.

And, unfortunately, the thought of the excuse bid the actual urge, and Sakura began to cry again because really, what choice did she have at this point?

* * *

Madara slept well for the first time in six months that night.

He no longer had to worry about Sakura leaving; she was in his basement, unable to walk and now thoroughly terrified of him. He’d contacted Duke University to cancel the partnership through her hacked email account, broken the lease on her apartment in the United States with the same, and contacted FedEX to have her things returned to his address. Most of the clothes she wore anymore had been paid for by him over the years, and many of her belongings would have good memories for her.

He wanted her afraid and obedient, yes, but he didn’t want her to forget how much he loved her, either.

Sakura was the only person in the world he would ever go to these lengths for, after all. Except for, perhaps, Izuna.

But that was different: Izuna was family.

Sakura…Sakura was _his,_ and his alone.

That morning, he stretched after getting out of bed and felt terribly satisfied with himself. The uncertainty that she’d somehow slip through his fingers was gone now, and she was well on her way to having the singular undesirable trait she had—her defiance of him; of course he didn’t mind if she defied others, she was _meant_ to rule by his side—weeded out of her forever.

And he’d slaked his lust, if only temporarily.

_Very_ temporarily, he realized as his hardened member stood tall against the sweatpants he’d worn to bed.

In that moment, he considered going down to the basement to treat Sakura, but soon discarded the thought. She was sore and certainly hurting, and if he hurt her unnecessarily now, when she’d done nothing, it would only have negative affects on their relationship.

He couldn’t wait until it was consensual again. There was a reason he’d had to force her hips to move against his when she wouldn’t; he didn’t want to fuck a doll, after all.

But after his shower and relieving his lust, he knew that Sakura would be hungry and he understood that now, more than ever, she needed to be cared for. It’d be easier to quell her defiance if she could trust that he was only doing what was best for her, and would only ever do what was best for her.

And that, unfortunately, included punishment.

But he wouldn’t balk from the task.

He went down to the kitchens and ordered his housekeeper, Uruchi, to make a breakfast platter for Sakura of all her favorites. Sakura had spent the night often enough that Uruchi knew these little things, and with a nod and smile, she set to work.

She’d arrived at eight this morning and had no idea that Sakura wasn’t here of her own volition. Madara had no intention of her finding out, either, as Uruchi, despite being an Uchiha, was too soft-hearted to be trusted with this kind of thing. Not until Sakura had adjusted, anyway. He didn’t think it would take too long after last night.

Thirty minutes later, Madara had a tray of food that he insisted he take to Sakura himself. Uruchi only cooed about ‘young love’—she was nearing seventy, after all—and returned to her work around the kitchen. Madara balanced the tray carefully and proceeded down to the basement.

Sakura was laying in largely the same position as he had left her, but he saw the smear of his claim on the side of the bed and knew she’d tried to leave at some point. The stirrings of anger began low in his gut.

But she was deeply asleep, so he temporarily quenched it in order to wake her up. “Wake up, Sakura. It’s morning,” he said, and she jolted awake at his voice, immediately wincing afterwards.

She hadn’t even fully blinked herself awake before she moaned weakly through the gag and squirmed uncomfortably.

It was probably about time to take the ball gag out, since he had a question that needed a true verbal answer. He set the tray down, carefully away from her legs so she couldn’t kick it and make a mess if her defiant streak hadn’t been as pruned as he hoped, and with deft fingers undid the ball gag.

Sakura all but spit it out of her mouth before whispering desperately, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

Madara found himself surprised. He supposed it was irresponsible on his part to not have considered that before going to sleep, and could only be grateful that she hadn’t wet the bed.

Without hesitation, he lifted her up and took her towards the small bathroom that he’d had installed in the basement on a whim when he’d first gotten the house. It had certainly made it an ideal place for Sakura’s incarceration, though he’d never imagined himself doing this kind of thing or having it even occur to him before she’d come into his life.

He set her down on the toilet and turned his back but did not leave, content to listen for a lie. If she’d really had to go to the bathroom all that time, it would explain her attempt to get out of bed in the first place, and he felt his brief anger replaced by a vague sense of guilt.

And, thankfully, it turned out she hadn’t been lying after all.

Once she was done, he lifted her back up—she couldn’t even stand up from sitting on the toilet—and brought her back to the bed, laying her down next to the food tray as gently as he could. He didn’t miss the way she had flinched when he neared to touch her, touched her, spoke, or even looked in her direction, but he decided that would fade with time.

“I brought you breakfast,” he told her once she was settled as comfortably as she could be, motioning to the tray.

Sakura stared at the food dully, and though he could see her swallow hungrily, she didn’t make any move toward it.

It occurred to him that maybe she was going on a hunger strike, but he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, taking the chopsticks on the tray and pressing them into her hand. She gripped them and shifted them into position before hesitating, then saying quietly, “I can’t really reach.”

He chuckled self-deprecatingly, eliciting another, more violent flinch, and set the tray on her lap. Fortunately for her, she immediately began to eat, though not with much fervor.

It would be remedied in time. She’d adjust, he knew she would.

And then they could go back to being happy the way they had been before this whole mess.


	4. Game

Several days passed, with Madara taking expert care of her as she recovered, and all the while, Sakura was working her plan.

She’d missed her plane, of course, and undoubtedly Duke would be wondering where she was. However, Sakura also knew that if Madara had known about her plans to leave this entire time, there was a huge chance he’d interfered somehow.

This was verified when, on the fourth day of her incarceration in the basement, Madara brought her a change of clothes that she knew for a fact she had shipped off to the States.

But she didn’t question it, didn’t demand answers, didn’t ask what the hell he was doing with her things. She accepted the clothing, allowed him to help her into the clothes—she wasn’t quite in top shape, even though he’d let her heal since that brutal raping—and all around played dumb.

Because that was what this was.

A game she had to play.

A game that Madara likely didn’t know that they were playing. He really and truly thought that he’d broken her of that ‘defiant streak’ through the rape, and Sakura was content to let him think that. As much as she wanted to rage at him, break his nose and cut off certain parts of his anatomy, she didn’t show this to him. She waited, biding her time until he let her out of the basement. Then, a few days to a week more of him growing complacent and believing that she’d capitulated to him, and with certainty that she could run, she’d escape the manor.

She didn’t dare steal anything like a cell phone—too traceable, too much of a risk. She knew for a fact that Madara lived on the outskirts of the Uchiha clan’s property, naturally taking up the largest amount as head as well as because of his wealth. But even the kilometer of property wouldn’t be enough to deter her from making it to Sasuke’s house, which would get her in turn to Naruto, whose father was the mayor. If anyone would listen to her plight and protect her from this megalomaniac who had once been her boyfriend, it would be Namikaze Minato.

Sometimes, Sakura mused to herself as she washed her hands after going to the bathroom in the basement—she now had free reign of it, although the door to the surface was deadbolted from the other side—it was nice to have friends in high places.

It would also, in a way, be a nice way to spit in Madara’s face. He’d undoubtedly find out that Sasuke—one of his own clan, of his blood—had helped her, and he’d be furious. But Sasuke was untouchable as the mayor’s only son’s boyfriend, so whatever revenge he wanted to exact would be nullified. Even more so, Madara knew of Sakura’s one-time crush on him before he came out, and that alone had made him determined to keep them apart.

Perhaps that was a part of the ‘defiant streak’ Madara wanted to eliminate in her. But Sakura didn’t particularly care on that front—she wasn’t someone who could be broken so easily.

It had already been proven that her ex had certain delusions about her. Sakura was entirely willing to play into those if they would help her in the long run. Hopefully, though, the ‘run’ wouldn’t be that long. She estimated she could probably get out of here in about another two weeks at most, if Madara continued to feed into his delusions at the same rate.

She wasn’t stupid, though. She knew he wasn’t fully convinced. Madara himself wasn’t stupid, and to an extent he _did_ know her, although it seemed not very well if he thought she would be defeated so easily. It may have been the mental illness, though.

Mental illness, yes, because while Sakura was no psychiatrist, she had taken plenty of psychology electives in her college career because it had originally been the path she was going to take until her best friend Ino got breast cancer herself at an unreasonably young age. Ino had thankfully survived and the cancer was still safely in remission, but although it had changed Sakura’s course of study, she’d never lost her enjoyment of psychology.

She was pretty sure that Madara, somewhere along the line, had developed something. She had no idea what it could be, given that the only symptoms she could tell were delusions and obsessiveness, and perhaps uncharacteristic rage—although that was debatable.

There was a small part of her that was worried that because Madara had been so terribly invested in her and had found out that she was leaving from someone other than herself, that perhaps that itself had been what started the cracking in his sanity. Still, after how he had treated her that first night, Sakura held no pity for him. Someone else could help him.

She, on the other hand, wanted absolutely nothing to do with him, just as soon as she escaped.

When she left the bathroom to return to her bed and pick up her latest read—Madara had allowed her some of her stolen belongings because she was ‘behaving’—she found said man waiting for her, sitting on the bed with…

Handcuffs.

“What are those for?” she asked in an unassuming, normal voice. Just the right amount of curiosity, a hint of the suspicion that she would have normally had in their relationship, but overall as though she were speaking to him about the weather. Unconcerned. Trusting.

“I think you’ve healed well enough,” he told her, not maliciously, just a statement of fact. Sakura felt the blood drain from her face involuntarily, no matter how she tried to maintain her poise.

_“If I want to have sex, we_ will _have sex.”_

She couldn’t say no, even though she desperately wanted to. If she wanted to escape, to prove to him that she had accepted him, she was going to have to sleep with him.

Sakura considered objecting that she was sore, but those words echoed in her mind, and with a vivid flash of memory that reminded her just _how_ she’d become so sore, Sakura was all but convinced that there would be no getting out of this even if she were to fight.

Swallowing the words that wanted to come out, she nodded and sat down on the bed beside him—not too close, but not so far that it would seem like she was trying to get away from him. It was still a very uncomfortably close distance, though, because being in the same city limit as him was an uncomfortably close distance.

He raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Not going to fight it this time?” he questioned.

Sakura swallowed thickly. “Do you want me to?”

“Of course not,” he said, brushing a strand of hair away from her eyes tenderly. Sakura made a valiant effort not to flinch away, to not let her subconscious show her true feelings on his touch.

“Then I’m not going to fight it,” she concluded, trying to keep the dull resignation out of her tone.

It seemed she didn’t quite succeed. “Sakura, I don’t want a doll for a wife,” he said, tone hardening.

Sakura ignored the wife comment. Things wouldn’t get that far anyways. “So you want me to fight you, then?” she said in the tone of someone just trying to clarify the college lecturer’s statement.

He sighed heavily through his nose. “Stop being defiant.”

She couldn’t quite keep the rage out of her voice—she had never been the most ideal actress, anyways. “Then what do you want, Madara? Do you want me to do whatever you say whenever you say it, or do you want me to be me? Because I’m trying to do what you want right now, because I’m sore and I don’t really feel like sex but I’m going to give it to you anyways—and you’re telling me I’m being defiant? How am I supposed to-”

She was cut off by his lips on hers, and Sakura inhaled sharply through her nose before forcing herself to relax against him. His hands came up to tangle in her hair and she reluctantly rested her hands on his waist, only giving back to the kiss what was necessary to seem realistic. There were no feelings of arousal in her, just a sickening grimy feeling inside her and on her skin that heavily reminded her of disgust.

_She didn’t want this man touching her._

But Madara didn’t notice, or didn’t care—he was enthusiastic enough to carry it out all on his own. The handcuffs were forgotten his passion, and before she knew it she was on her back and he was thrusting into her.

If he noticed her lack of arousal, he didn’t comment on it, freely taking what she had technically given him. She wondered vaguely, as he began a steady rhythm, if this counted as consensual sex. She didn’t want to have sex at all; in fact, she wanted nothing to do with this sick, sick monster. But she had done nothing at all to try and dissuade him, even though an ordinary man would have heard she was sore and didn’t feel like having sex and would have backed off, his own needs forgotten.

But Madara wasn’t an ordinary man. He never had been…but Sakura hadn’t expected him to be _so_ extraordinary, either. In the worst way possible.

So, she supposed, in a court, she’d probably be dragged through the mud, but psychologically, this could definitely be considered rape. To her muted surprise, she didn’t really feel anything about that revelation. Perhaps she was in shock, all her emotions muffled by the need to escape to where it was safe. She was, after all, in enemy territory, and that wasn’t a good place to work through issues.

She was going to need a therapist after this, she mused blankly, inserting a slight, perfunctory moan to placate her rapist.

Sakura had never had to fake enjoyment with Madara before. He’d always seen to her needs. However, it seemed like those days were over now, and he was content to reach his own pleasure with or without her—and ever since he’d brutally taken her against her will, it was unnecessary to state that it would _always_ be without her. She could muster up nothing but hatred for this man, hot and slick and seething.

He finished unceremoniously, then pulled her into his arms. Sakura couldn’t help the disgusted shudder that wracked her body, but hid it with a yawn.

“Tired already?” Madara asked. “You didn’t even come.”

“I told you that I didn’t feel like having sex,” Sakura replied as neutrally as she could. Not accusatorily, not angrily, just a statement of fact.

He hummed and stroked her hair, and once upon a time that might have soothed her. Now, all Sakura wanted was a shower, to wash his essence and his touch off her body and go to sleep. She wasn’t as tired as her yawn had portrayed, but there was a mental weariness that weighed her down and she found that she truly did just want to close her eyes and doze.

And, to the best of her ability while her rapist touched her so fondly, she did just that.

Sakura lost track of the time she spent unwillingly in his arms, her eyes closed and mind drifting from raucous thought to raucous thought, and it wasn’t particularly restful, but eventually focusing on her breath cleared some of the nastiness in her mind and she was able to float along smoothly.

Then, Madara interrupted her. “You must be hungry. I’ll go get you something.”

Sakura nodded acquiescently without opening her eyes, content to lay there. As soon as he pulled away to stand, she felt a tension she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding melt from her body, and it was like she was suddenly breathing again after slowly, slowly drowning.

She heard footsteps and the door to the surface open and close, and Sakura sighed wearily. Hopefully that bout of sex would sate him for at least another few days. A thick, tarry kind of sick feeling filled her at the thought that it was characteristically impossible for Madara to not rape her many more times before she was able to escape to safety. For all she knew, he was getting her food so she would have more energy for the next round.

Bile rose in her throat, and Sakura realized that for all the lesser physical pain—there certainly was still pain because of her distinct lack of arousal—she almost preferred when Madara knew it was rape and she wasn’t having to pretend that it was okay. It made her feel like she was betraying herself, almost. A defeat, even if it was in the name of a much greater victory.

Without warning, tears trickled down her temples, pulled by gravity and grief, and Sakura let herself cry, just for five minutes so that she could be suitably composed when her captor returned.

Five minutes turned to ten, then fifteen. She couldn’t stop, and sobs ached in her throat. She curled up into a tight ball, the fetal position, and rocked herself back and forth as she tried to stifle her wracking pain. What a disgusting, disgusting game she had to play just to be free.

And why, oh why, did this game have to feel so sickeningly real?


	5. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for anal stuff...but at least imo, it's not as dark as the first time around. :)

He couldn’t help but be pleased.

Sakura’s complacency had been so convincing that at first he had actually fallen for it. It wasn’t until she had capitulated so easily to sex after what he’d done to her that he realized she was trying to play him.

Uchiha Madara wasn’t so easily fooled, even when he was presented with everything that he wanted.

But, he mused as he ran his fingers over the rarely used but beautiful grand piano in the formal sitting room, he wondered if this Sakura was really what he wanted anymore. This last week he had missed her fire, even though it had previously driven him crazy when she defied him. He wanted…he wanted…

He realized, with a wave of calm assurance, that he wanted what he and Sakura had always had. Perhaps he had been wrong about stamping out her defiant streak—now that he had it, he didn’t want it anymore.

A light frown crossed his features. Simply telling her that he had changed his mind would make him seem capricious, and it would lead to an even further lack of trust that he had raped her—oh, he knew it was rape, he just didn’t care—so brutally in an attempt to break her and then decided he didn’t want that anymore.

Granted, he knew she wasn’t really broken, but he knew she didn’t know that he knew. He also knew that it would be unwise to let her in on that knowledge, as it would only lead to further desperation.

He didn’t want Sakura desperate to get away from him. He wanted her to stay, had _always_ just _wanted her to stay_. But she had made the wrong decision, and had shattered their fragile reality, and now he had to resort to other methods to make sure that she did.

Madara pursed his lips at the memory of her laying limply beneath him, eyes closed to block out his visage, inserting patently false little sounds that no man, no matter how delusional, could mistake for a sign of pleasure.

He wasn’t delusional. He was just willing to go to farther lengths than most men to keep the woman he loved. There was nothing wrong with that.

Oh, the law said so, but the law had never once touched Uchiha Madara and it never would. He wasn’t concerned with that; the only thing that mattered to him, that had ever mattered to him since the moment he laid his eyes on cherry blossom hair, was Sakura.

He decided right then and there that he didn’t care if she hated him as long as she stayed. As long as she knew that her place was by his side and unquestioningly accepted it, everything would be fine. And, he knew, the feelings she’d had were still there.

They were.

And if, by some curse, they weren’t, he’d break her down so far that she would only know him as her lord and master and would never even so much as breathe without thinking of him. He’d dominate her, own her, and that would be how it was always.

But, until then, he would try to bring back her fire.

* * *

 

Sakura absently picked at a loose thread in her comforter, a high-quality thing that really shouldn’t have been fraying as it was. But she had read all of her books twice, and anxiety made her pick at and mess with things that shouldn’t be picked at or messed with.

She sighed. The plan wasn’t going as well as she’d hoped.

It had been almost a week, or so she assumed from her number of meals, since she’d started playing the game. Still, Madara showed no signs of trusting her any more than in the beginning, and there hadn’t been so much as a shadow of a hint that she would be led to the surface any time soon. It was starting to frighten her, making her wonder if Madara was content to keep her here indefinitely.

She wasn’t going to break under the pressure, but she had been hoping that in his delusions he would fall for her plan a little more quickly, become complacent when he got what he wanted.

A shiver ran down her spine. Every day, she grew more determined to get out of here and away from Madara, and every day, she felt just a little more hopeless that it would happen any time soon.

She couldn’t _stand_ him. His presence, his scent, his voice—everything about him made her recoil in disgust. She wasn’t sure what to do if she couldn’t even be near him without feeling revulsion well up so powerfully within her.

But she’d keep fighting. There was no other way.

Unfortunately, it was just then that the door from the ground floor opened up, and soon Madara was walking down the stairs into the basement. Sakura couldn’t help stiffening and sitting up that much straighter, worried that he was here for sex.

He’d been holding off, much to her relief. But every time he came down, she worried that her reprieve was now over.

Madara didn’t say anything as he approached the bed. His hands were empty and loose at his sides, giving Sakura the hope that he wasn’t here to rape her. She hesitated for a moment, then said reluctantly, “Hello.”

“Good morning,” he replied perfunctorily as he sat down next to her, and then the next thing she knew, he had grabbed her by the back of her neck and pulled her to him for a kiss.

Limply and ignoring the tarry pit in her stomach, she moved her tongue against his. Unlike last time, though, it didn’t satisfy him, and he forcefully pulled her closer and made her tongue dance with his wildly.

She fought the bile creeping up her throat and gave a small moan to hide her disgust.

It seemed to spur him on, which was good because that meant it would be over sooner rather than later. He palmed her breast roughly through her shirt, and Sakura winced before smoothing over her features, hoping that his eyes were closed and he hadn’t seen her expression.

Then his hand was slipping under her shirt to caress her peak, twirling and pinching and making it pebble. Despite that this would normally start to arouse her, she found no pleasure in it.

But her disgust was such that she stopped kissing him, and he pulled away. “We’re going to try something new today, Sakura,” he told her, a hint of mischief in his voice.

Sakura didn’t know what it was, but she knew she wasn’t looking forward to it. He hadn’t brought any toys, so she could only hope that it was something like a new position and not something…worse.

Without waiting for her reaction or even hesitating, Madara flipped her onto her stomach. Sakura wasn’t sure what this was supposed to accomplish or what was new about it because this had once been one of her favorite positions because of the deepness of the angle he could reach, hitting her inner bundle of nerves _just right_. However, even if it had once been able to get her to come in record time, there was no way that Madara could make her come after what he’d done that first night.

But Madara wasn’t concerned. He pushed her shirt up and she allowed him to take it off, knowing that she just had to endure. After removing her comfy yoga pants and underwear, he then started massaging her lower back and rear, as though trying to relax her. In another life Sakura might have felt his touch enjoyable, because he was kneading out all the knots in her hips and lower back, but all she could feel now was a sick sense of worry. She found herself particularly concerned about what they were trying that was ‘new.’

Then, one of his hands reached around and began to touch her clit gently and just in the way that she liked. At first, it was only that same disgust as before, and she was dry as a desert. But then, suddenly and against all logic and reason, she felt a spark in her abdomen.

She gasped, not from the pleasure but from horror. _He wasn’t supposed to be able to make her feel this way anymore!_

But he kept rubbing in those gentle circles, stimulating her just right until she felt wetness breaching her inner thighs. Then, with finesse, he slid in a single digit, pressing against _both_ bundles of nerves simultaneously, and it ripped a moan from her throat.

She so badly wanted to beg him to stop. He wasn’t allowed to do this to her. This was rape, _rape rape rape_ , and she should _not_ be enjoying it.

But it was undeniable that she was. Madara used his free hand to reach around and toy with a hardened peak, and against her will Sakura moaned again and bucked back against him.

He chuckled. “Good girl.”

A shiver of shame traveled down her spine, and she knew she couldn’t let this continue.

“I’m really—really tired,” she said, her voice cracking with a moan when he moved over her to suckle her neck, never stopping in his ministrations. “M-maybe we could-”

“Did you forget what I told you?” he murmured against her skin, deceptively calm. Sakura knew then that further arguments might blow her cover, and she shook her head and pursed her lips.

He was rock hard; she could feel his erection at her rear. He was moving his hips against hers in a steady rhythm, but no sounds came forth. In an attempt to distract him, she asked, “What’s the new thing we’re…?”

“You’ll see,” he said lasciviously, grinding particularly hard into the crevice of her rear. Sakura tingled.

His ministrations increased in force and skill abruptly, and soon, to her great horror and humiliation, she was spasming around his fingers. She choked on her moan, ignoring the fact that she was bucking her hips to spur on her orgasm, and felt tears prick her eyes.

She blinked them away stubbornly. There was no use in crying now; it would only show that she was really unwilling and maybe even give her away. She could save her tears for later, when she was alone.

Without warning, Madara removed his fingers and plunged inside her. Sakura gasped and then couldn’t stop her moan, feeling him fill her in a way that was once delicious. Her knees trembled where they held her up and she felt her elbows start to buckle. She held herself upright with only the utmost willpower, but when he began to move in just the right away, she felt her arms give out.

“This is much better, isn’t it?” he asked, lightly panting as he moved in a still-gentle pace. Sakura didn’t deign to reply, not even with a head motion, and resolutely endured the pleasure he was bringing her.

He sped up his pace after a while, thrusting harder and faster, and Sakura whimpered at the way her abdomen was clenching tightly with his every movement. He knew how to bring her pleasure, and apparently, if he wanted to, he could force her to feel it even now.

Sakura could only moan quietly into her pillow.

Then, without any prior indication, he pulled out. Sakura was torn by relief and the unresolved tension in her body. Perhaps…this was the new thing he was talking about?

He was reaching around, and there was the crinkle of a condom. But Madara hated condoms, and she hadn’t felt particularly against them herself, so they hadn’t used them. So why…?

She assumed he had slid it on without any problem, and then, to her utter, abject horror, she felt the tip of his head prod her anus.

“No!” she shouted, wrenching away from him. She didn’t care about the game—she didn’t care about escape—he was _not_ going to put that there!

“You don’t have a choice,” he told her calmly, grabbing her hips before they could pull too far away and holding them in a bruising grip against his.

“No! No, no, no! Let me the fuck go!” She was desperately trying to scramble away from him, her feet and knees slipping against the silky surface of the sheets, but Madara didn’t relent.

“You can fight and make this painful, or you can relax and try to enjoy it. Either way, it’s happening, Sakura,” he told her with hard determination.

Sakura felt tears prick her eyes as she realized her struggles were and always would be fruitless. “No! _No!_ Please don’t, Madara! _Please!_ ”

But his tip just prodded even more insistently, and she felt her whole body contract tightly.

“Sakura,” he said gently, still holding her in place, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then _don’t do this!_ ” she screamed, clawing at the bedsheets.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, sounding genuinely contrite, and Sakura knew it meant he wasn’t going to stop, but maybe he really did feel bad about hurting her. She highly doubted it, though—he wouldn’t do it if he honestly didn’t want to hurt her.

The reason for his apology became rapidly apparent when she felt spearing, unbearable agony as he breached her rear entrance.

Sakura was in so much pain she couldn’t even scream. Her knees gave out and she was only held in place by Madara now, but disregarding her pain, he pushed in inch after thick inch at a time.

She could hardly breathe through the pain, and barely registered Madara stroking her lower back. “Relax,” he grit out, a moan clear in his voice, but Sakura didn’t think she could relax her muscles even if she wanted to.

And then, after what felt like years of agonizing pain, he was fully seated. He was panting, likely from pleasure, and Sakura absently noted tears streaming down her face. Thankfully, he didn’t move and exacerbate the pain further, simply being still while ensconced inside her.

“Sakura,” he moaned. “Sakura, Sakura, _Sakura._ ” He said it like a prayer, like a blessing.

A muffled sob escaped her, and she begged with the reediest, tiniest of voices, “Please…Madara…”

“Shh, shh,” he cooed with sickening tenderness, still stroking her back in what she thought might be meant to be soothing. “Just relax. It won’t hurt as much.”

Sakura faltered, unsure of whether to listen to him or not. It grated to obey his orders, to take his advice when he was violating her this way, but it hurt _so much_ …

With everything she had, she focused on relaxing her body. This was going to happen whether she wanted it to or not. It was better to try and make it less painful if she was going to be forced to do it either way.

She must have done it right somehow, because when he began to move, it hurt less than before. As he grunted and groaned with the pleasure from his movements, Sakura put all of her effort into staying relaxed. Every sound caused her to tense, and the pain increased when she did. She was still crying quietly, and it did still hurt anyways, but it wasn’t as bad when she stayed relaxed.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of pain and violation, Madara increased his force and speed in his climax. Sakura shuddered, unable to stop her body from tightening up, and then at last he was done.

Afterwards, he tried to bring her pleasure, but Sakura was still too shocked and nearly broken to feel anything. The cuddling was nearly as traumatizing as the rape itself—in a way, even more so—and then finally, he left with a kiss to her forehead.

Sakura cried herself into a restless, painful sleep.

_She couldn’t do this anymore._


End file.
